Memories of Far Away
by MadderJacker
Summary: In the midst of life's hardships, one will find themselves looking back to their memories. Perhaps it is for guidance, or maybe it is for leisure. Some may do it for mourning, whilst others find themselves unable to escape their actions. But for whatever the reason, the past is written down in ink, and nothing can change it. Here is the journal where these memories are bound.
1. Memory: Pawniard

Keila was a small island in the middle of the seas only a few scores of miles below the line of eternal winter in the north. It was surrounded by tall cliffs on all sides, save for one small beach carved in by the owners with a sturdy wooden dock next to it. A large ship bobbed in the waves day after day, and the only time it would leave was when there were products to deliver. Keila only had a farm on it, and in 871 it had come under new management. The old Torterra who owned it had been visited by Gliscor and his associates one day. Torterra was adamant about keeping the farm that had been in his family for generations, but Gliscor gave him an offer he couldn't refuse: a clean cut across his throat.

To the everyman's eye, the island of Keila would look to be unappealing. The grassy land sloped further and further down towards the middle, almost like a crater, and about twice a decade there would be a storm great enough for waves to rise beyond the cliffs and flood the valley. Essentially it was a prison island. But to Gliscor, he saw promise in it.

He had not taken the farm to spend the rest of his life divided between hard labor and resting on the porch in a rocking chair. As he planned, the farm would have been a cover to send produce out to the real world, and all the work would be done by his main business: slave labor. Prior to this, he had been in another underground slave trade company, until he felt he had what he needed and left to forge his own here.

It had been two years since then. Mid-spring rain hammered down on the tin roofs of shotty shacks in the edge of the muddy fields. Pokemon wrapped themselves in coarse blankets in their bunks in the darkness of the early morning. The only bit of warmth on that damned rock in the middle of the seas came from inside the farmhouse. A gentle flame cradled in a lantern stood perched on a coffee table and cast its warm glow across the living room. Two leather couches sat on opposite sides of the table just a few feet away.

Gliscor sat on one side with his arms outstretched. His head was turned around like an owl's so that he could stare out the window and into the fields through a veil of rain that pounded on the glass. Across from him on the other couch there sat a Noivern perched on the arm. Her lanky arms rested on her knees as she looked down to a catalogue held in her hands. She flipped through page after page and skimmed through the data written in there. The booklet had the current occupants chronologically listed there by their species, followed by level, age, height, weight, moveset, and finally the check-in and check-out dates. There was well over fifty pages, and most of the entries had been blacked out.

"I apologize for the wait," said a Liepard as she walked into the room. On her back she had balanced a small platter with a steaming kettle and two empty mugs on top, as well as a small bowl of sugar. "The first pot wasn't good enough to serve to you." She knelt down by the table and slid the platter onto the surface.

Gliscor turned around and looked at her with his sickly yellow eyes. They seemed to glow like two hunter's moons in the soft light of the lantern. He formed a smile and reached for one of the mugs. "Ah, thank you. I needed this." His other claw gripped the kettle's handle and poured himself most of a cup of coffee. After placing three cubes of sugar inside, he leaned back on the couch and swayed his drink in slow circles. "Would you like some?"

"Thank you, but no. Coffee is a bit too bitter for my tastes," Noivern replied.

"How about some tea? I think we have some lavender in the kitchen. Or some spearmint, if my last guests didn't take it all," Gliscor continued.

"I'm fine," she insisted. The speakers in her ears vibrated slightly with her words. Gliscor looked to Liepard with his haunting yellow eyes, and the Dark-type bowed and retreated elsewhere into the house.

"I, at least, need this," said the Ground-type. He brought up his mug to his mouth and took a sip of his coffee. The sugar had, for the most part, been thoroughly mixed in. "Normally customers would come after the sun is up."

"I'm sorry. I was running unexpectedly ahead of schedule." Noivern bowed just so slightly. "I'm nocturnal, so I sometimes forget that other Pokemon work on a different clock than me."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." He casually waved his claw. "I used to be just the same, but I had to adapt to get into a new job. Don't expect the whole world to change just for you, y'know?"

"Y-yeah…"

"So." Gliscor took a swig from his coffee. "What're you looking for? What jobs do you need done?"

Noivern cleared her throat. "Actually, I'm here on behalf of someone else."

"Oh?" Gliscor raised a brow. "I can't help but wonder why they need their anonymity. What kind of fucked up shit do they have planned…?" His smile contorted into some delighted grin. "But, I won't prod, lest I chase away another customer. Once the little guy's in your possession, you could drown them in piss for all I care."

"I'll keep that in mind," she muttered. "We're in need of something precise, and I believe you have just what we need." She flipped back three pages and extended her arm forward towards Gliscor. Her thumb pointed to an entry for a young Ralts only a year and a half old.

Gliscor paused for a moment and looked quizzically at the entry for the Ralts. "Him? Really?" Noivern nodded. "But, he… he's scrawny. Look at him there. One foot one inch, eleven pounds, only level 8… I don't want to judge your choices, but you could do a lot better."

"What kind of businessmon tries to talk someone out of a sale?" Noivern raised a brow.

"I'm more of an honest guy than you'd think. If I don't think I'm selling the best product, I'll let you know." His eyes shifted back to his coffee and he took a quick sip.

"I appreciate the thought, but this looks just like what we're looking for," she replied.

"Look, I…" Gliscor sighed and set down his mug. "This Ralts isn't for sale. He's been put on hold by someone else. They too are anonymous."

"Really?" Noivern placed the catalogue on the table and leaned back against the couch. "I thought you implied he was too frail to be used."

"He is, but the guy was adamant about it. Giving us 50,000 Poke for the brat," Gliscor said.

Noivern whistled, and the speakers on her head whirred like a pinwheel. "That's a nice profit there… how would you like another zero on that?"

The Ground-type retracted himself and put a claw to his heart. His two hunter's moons grew full. "F-f-f-five hundred thousand?!" His lungs started to push out his chest even further as his breaths rushed in and out of his throat. "That's… I… Arceus _damn it!_ " He held his mug over his head, and his claw trembled as he restrained himself from shattering it on the floor. Coffee spilled over the edge and splashed over Gliscor's thick skin. "I can't," he groaned. "I fucking can't." In frustration he tossed the mug down on the table. Coffee sloshed over the edges and trickled onto the floor.

"Is something wrong?" Noivern asked, hiding a smirk.

" _Yes_ , there is. Long story short, I owe the guy. In a week, he's coming for that Ralts. You're gonna have to pick someone else, got it? He's only in the catalogue to keep track of him. It's an attendance thing, to make sure they didn't off themselves by jumping into the ocean," Gliscor explained. "We have plenty of similar builds around here- two other Ralts, even. Take a look in the catalogue again."

"Aww," she sighed. A moment later, Liepard returned with a cloth rag between her teeth and began to sop up the mess.

"Thank you, Liepard," said Gliscor, regaining his composure. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Four fifty-six. Just a few minutes until the sun starts to rise," Leopard answered.

"Really?" Gliscor turned his head towards the window and scanned the eastern horizon. "I could've sworn that it was earlier than that… Fucking rain." He reached for the mostly-empty mug and chugged down the rest of his coffee before placing an empty cup on the platter. "You can take care of that later. Please go wake up the boys for me, will you?"

"Understood." Liepard folded up the cloth and left it neatly on the table before calmly strolling towards the door. Her tail wrapped around the knob and opened the door just so to the outside, flooding the living room with the sound of rain pounding against the mud, and then closed it once she had walked beyond it.

"She's a good girl," Gliscor stated. "I'd hate to see her go. Whoever takes her from me is gonna be one lucky fella'... If it's someone like her you're looking for, I got a few. They're in their own place next to the guards."

"What do y-... Oh. N-no, nothing like that," Noivern said nervously. The Ground-type chuckled quietly. "We need… it's hard to explain. They… th-they ha-"

"Say no more," Gliscor insisted. "You got lucky. It's nearly waking hour for the brats. You can browse the aisles yourself, so long as you don't mind your feet getting muddy. Maybe I could get an idea of what you want and help you out."

"Sounds good," she replied.

"Great. In a few minutes the guards will be up, and you can go check the line for something your superior would want. And if you're not sure, pick out some ones you like and I'll mark them on reserve for ya," he told her. "Oh, and don't be freaked out when I switch personas. I act a little… _different_ around them. A bit of psychological warfare to keep them all in line, y'know?"

"I'll keep myself prepared."

"Excellent." Gliscor closed his pale yellow eyes and took a deep breath. The air that streamed out his nostrils seemed colder than when it came in. Slowly his lips began to stretch across his face and contort into a twisted crescent moon. His jagged teeth scraped up against one another as he took slow, rhythmic breaths. The clouds over the hunter's moons withdrew, and those twin glowing orbs stared back at her like spotlights. "Ah… there we are." Gradually his tail began to jab between the cushions, and then extended and straightened out until Gliscor was towering above the Noivern across from him.

"Arceus…" Noivern shuddered.

"I know, right?" With his tail Gliscor pogoed off the couch and landed near the door. "Given how fast Liepard moves, the guards are moving by now. We need to be there when the cabin doors open." His claw gripped the knob, and he opened the door and walked outside. Noivern rolled her eyes and followed behind him.

A long cobblestone path brought the two to the edge of the muddy fields, past rows of soaked wheat and corn being bombarded by rain. At the very end of it stood a line of cheap wooden shacks, fourteen in total. Three of Gliscor's employees stood outside on the path: a Pangoro, a Hypno, and a Luxray. The Luxray had a luminous gem attached to the end of her tail that she had extended in front of her to cast a faint sphere of light around her.

"Who's this?" asked the Hypno, nodding to the Noivern.

"We have a customer, boys. And she wants to see the stock for herself," Gliscor answered. "So let's not keep her waiting, shall we?"

Hypno nodded and flicked his wrist above his head, conjuring some small psychic barrier that the rain bounced off of. From a bag at his waist he removed a booklet and a thin stick of charcoal. His gaze moved to the hulking Pangoro, who in turn began lumbering over to the shacks. The Dark-type bashed his huge open hands on the side of the walls. They rattled and shook under the force. Some of the weaker planks nearly snapped as he smacked the paw pad against them. "Fifteen seconds!" Pangoro bellowed. His heavy feet squelched in the mud as he stomped from shack to shack, banging on the doors as if to break them down. In mere seconds, the doors swung open with a small stampede of young Pokemon rushing out of their slumber and into the rain. They pushed and shoved as the some hundred and fifty of them formed into an unorganized line on the cobblestone path.

Noivern clenched a fist as her gaze swept across the line. Each one was scrawny and short, mere skeletons held together by pale skin. Machops and Riolu and Geodudes were covered in cuts and bruises, whilst scars marked the waists and backs of quadrupeds like Shinx and Ponyta. Mud caked their arms and legs. Their whole bodies were hidden under a veil of grime that began to run off them and pool at their feet.

The Hypno scratched a small mark into the booklet with his pen as he passed by each Pokemon. He only gave them the slightest glance in the light that Luxray cast as she walked beside him, just to ensure they were still breathing. Gliscor's gaze would frequently meet Noivern's, but to him the Dragon-type seemed disappointed with his stock.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, tilting his head.

"No," she answered. "Just, still looking." Hypno made another mark on the paper as he passed them by. One dozen. Two. Three. Fifty. Sixty. They passed so many dead-eyed kids until Noivern noticed a small Ralts. The frail little guy stood between a Meowth and a Scraggy, the latter of which stared accusingly at Noivern as she halted in front of them. The rain bounced off his green cap, leaving him a thick collar of dirt around his neck and shoulders.

"'Ey." Gliscor's grin faltered. "Not this one."

"Really?" Noivern crouched down in front of the Ralts and peered at the boy. His empty red eyes looked back at the Dragon-type just on reflex. It was like staring at a walking corpse. _This is the kid?_ She thought. _Arceus. Garchomp's insane_.

"Ahem," growled Gliscor. "I don't like repeating myself."

 _Yeah yeah, I get it. Scaly bastard_. Noivern turned her gaze to the Scraggy next to him, who burned his eyes into her. "Feisty little guy," she muttered. Noivern turned back to Gliscor. "Who's he?"

"Scraggy, number 097," Hypno answered. "He's relatively new here. Hasn't been broken in yet. I'd give him a few weeks."

"He looks promising. Mind keeping him on reserve?" she asked.

"Can do. We'll make his last days here _extra_ special," Gliscor beamed. "Now doesn't that just sound lovely, kiddo?" The Scraggy growled back at the Ground-type with his fists clenched, but the Ralts next to him forcefully nudged him with his frail shoulder. Scraggy tamed his frustration and aimed his fierce stare at the path he stood on, mumbling under his breath.

They worked their way through the list, and Gliscor kept taunting them with that malevolent gleam in his eyes. Occasionally Noivern feigned interest in one of the kids, but overall she tried to stay as uninvolved as possible. But it was right at the end of the line where Hypno suddenly came to a stop. His gaze traced over and over an entry near the top, and then fell upon an empty space in the line between a Bulbasaur and a Houndour.

"Hey, Gliscor. It's been a week now," Hypno told him. "It's time to let number 009 out of the box."

"Hmm…" Gliscor tilted his head and looked to the edge of the field. Just above the mud there was a long, slim metal lid with a film of filth covering it. "I suppose you're right. 009 should have learned his lesson by now. Pangoro, will you do the honors?" The hulking Dark-type, previously towering over them all like a statue of a dictator, nodded his head and began lumbering over to the metal lid.

"Hey, kid. Time's up," bellowed Pangoro, followed by two rapid, solid knocks. He reached to his side and pulled out a ring that held six separate keys and slid one into a lock. It turned with a series of heavy _clunks_ , and after a moment Pangoro ripped the key out like a knife. The lid sprang open just an inch; just enough for the Dark-type's mud-caked foot to kick the rest of it open. A rusted, mildewy scent rushed out and assaulted Pangoro's nostrils. He recoiled back in disgust with a paw over his nose.

"What's wrong?" Hypno asked. "Did 009 die in there?"

"I… I don't know," Pangoro answered. "But it fuckin' reeks in there. Someone needs to clean that shit out."

"When we get a break in the rain, I'll get someone right on it. For now just check on the little bastard," Gliscor demanded.

"Yeah yeah," Pangoro mumbled. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and leaned forward over the box. The walls were damp and rusted, digging ten feet into the ground. Three inches of maroon-colored water pooled in the bottom. In the corner, there lay a Pawniard unmoving in the darkness. Rain bounced off his steel helmet and disturbed the maroon pond that had formed. "Come on kid. Move."

"You gave him food, right?" Hypno asked. Luxray nodded. "And the rust shouldn't have bothered a Steel-type for his water…"

"You're keeping everyone else waiting. Wake the hell up," Pangoro growled. "Get your scra-" In the blink of an eye, a bone smacked into the Dark-type's face. He staggered back in surprise and collapsed into the mud. A few of the kids chuckled under their breath. Luxray cracked a smile.

"Lively as ever," Gliscor sighed. "Go on, get out here, ya little scamp. You don't wanna be locked back in there, do you?" The walls of the metal box clattered and clanged as the Pawniard climbed up to the muddy surface. Even for someone so small, the Pawniard was a gaunt figure. The two-foot tall Steel-type hung his rusted, spindly arms by his side. His sickly yellow eyes stared straight ahead to the twin moons that was Gliscor. _Tch_. Pawniard spat into the dirt and made his way onto the path, stepping around the Pangoro washing off his fur in the rain.

"Who's this?" Noivern asked. Pawniard shifted his haunting gaze to the Dragon-type and began mentally sizing her up. _The outsider…_ he thought. _Who's leaving this time?_

"Him? Don't worry about it. He isn't what you're looking for," Gliscor replied.

"That isn't what I asked," she said.

Gliscor rolled his eyes. "He's… Well, he's usually reserved for bloodsport. That's not what you want, is it?"

"Oh. No, not specifically," she answered. _Bloodsport, huh? Maybe…_ Noivern turned around to numbers 001 through 008 and feigned a puzzled expression.

"Is there anything else that interests you?" he asked, rubbing his claws together like a peddling merchant.

"I've seen all you've to offer. I'll consult my master and return in a few days," she said.

"Excellent." Gliscor's grin spread across his face. "You hear that, boys? You got a hard day of work ahead of you! Now isn't that just splendid?" A low, rapid cackle roared through the pounding rain. Luxray's tail nudged into Noivern's wing and nodded in the direction of the docks. "Ta-ta for now," Gliscor waved. "Well, kids? Don't be rude. Wave goodbye to the nice lady." Some hundred and fifty pale hands and paws raised into the air and waved to Noivern. She spun around in one quick motion and hurried down the cobblestone path.

…

The dock was nothing too significant there on Keila. Planks squealed as the cargo ship bobbed up and down in the waves, only held to the island by a few well-tied knots. Inside a small one-room shack sat a lone Ampharos fighting off the sleep as she was supposed to be watching the docks. Needless to say, she wasn't doing her job.

Fastened to the dock across from the cargo ship, there was a small sailboat with a cabin. A leather tarp was pulled taut over the deck to keep the rain from pooling over. Noivern leapt from the dock and onto the top of the cabin with a soft _thud_. Silence. Her foot knocked on the roof. _Tap tap-tap tap tap_. Someone inside knocked back, _tap-tap tap tap_. Her spindly arm reached for the cabin's doorknob and crawled over the tarp. The warm glow of a candle faintly illuminated a small room from on top of a wooden table, neighbored by a bowl of bread and a few lukewarm drumsticks. A tall, muscled Garchomp leaned back in his chair with a half-eaten drumstick in his hand. It was practically bleeding sauce onto a rough wooden plate.

"So?" said Garchomp through a mouthful of roasted Swellow meat. "I can't help but notice you're alone."

"I know, I know," she grumbled. The air around her flickered and danced until her form faded away like a mirage. Standing in the place of the Noivern was the slender figure of a Zoroark with a trimmed, groomed red and black ponytail draped behind her. "I tried my damnedest, but he wouldn't budge. Someone else is holding him on reserve." Zoroark sat down across from Garchomp and grabbed a piece of bread, dabbing it in the sauce from the meat.

"How much for?" Garchomp asked.

"Fifty thousand." She took a bite of the bread and chewed for a moment. "I even offered him ten times that. He thought about it, but he couldn't. It seemed to physically pain him to turn down such an offer."

"Five hundred thousand…" A smirking Garchomp placed the drumstick on his plate and slid his claw out from the meat. "You'd have to be stupid to turn that down. Stupid… or threatened." The Dragon-type chuckled to himself. "If we're gonna bargain with threats, I got a hell of an offer for him. Hey, Excadrill!" He turned his head in the direction of the rear, where there was a small unlit room. The sliding door had retracted into the wall.

"Mmmm?" moaned Excadrill as he was roused from his sleep.

"It's come to _that_. Get up. Grab some stuff to eat. We're gonna need a lot of work from you," Garchomp ordered.

"Yeah, sure. Just give me a few," Excadrill replied.

"You have two minutes," Garchomp said. A brief moment passed. Zoroark finished her piece of bread and reached for a drumstick. "You… _did_ see him, right?" he asked.

"Our little lord? Yeah, I did. Lucky me got to see them all lined up like that. When I went in front of Ralts, Gliscor stopped me. Said this one was off-limits," said the Dark-type. "The little guy seemed… off to me, though."

"Being imprisoned does that to you," he shrugged. "The sooner we get him out of there, the better. It'll take a while for him to adapt."

"I'm up," Excadrill stated as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "You didn't get him?"

"Nope." Garchomp reached into a thick leather pouch and pulled out a folded scrap of paper and a small luminescent crystal. "The pattern you need to dig is mapped out here. Make sure not to screw it up."

"Yeah yeah," the Ground-type groaned. He reached for the scrap of paper and unfolded it to reveal a map of the isle of Keila. On it were some five dozen black dots scattered around the island with a small number written beside them. Black lines connected dot to dot and formed some complicated web. "These numbers are depth, right?" he asked.

"Yup. When you're done, you should be on the northwest coast," Garchomp stated. "We'll bring the boat around to a small cave-in on the cliff wall. Once we're finished, pop on in. We'll take care of the rest."

"Yessir." Excadrill proceeded to perform a groggy salute and grabbed a handful of bread and a drumstick. His claws pushed open the cabin door and silently landed on the dock. Zoroark reached over for the door and pushed it closed. They could hear the muffled sound of drilling as Excadrill dove into the cliffside and swam through the rock.

"So, what now?" Zoroark asked.

"We wait," Garchomp answered. He reached into his bag and removed a deck of cards, placing them carefully on the table. "Pick your poison. Poker? Cribbage? Blackjack?"

"Hmm…" She paused for a moment and eyed the deck carefully. "I guess… I could do for a game of cribbage. You got the board?"

…

The night was filled with ceaseless rain cascading down from the heavens. Walking through the mud was now like trying to tread through batter; grainy, lumpy, sticky batter. The children lay drenched in their beds with their rough-cloth blankets draped over them, as rain trickled in through the cracks in the roof and sporadically _plop plop-plopped_ on the floor.

But while everyone tried to sleep, letting their aching bodies get the rest they so dearly needed for the oncoming day, there were a few who stayed awake. Ralts, number 098, laid back in the coarse bed with his hands tucked behind his head. He replayed the words Gliscor said earlier this day again and again. _Not this one_. _Not this one_. Slowly he exhaled through his nostrils. Gliscor's words were far from cryptic, so rumors had spread faster than disease that he was reserved. In less than a week, some stranger would take him from here and put him to work doing whatever they want him to do. That was what everyone else had thought, anyways. But Ralts knew better. For as long as he could remember he had been number 098, and just about all of the other numbers had come and gone over the countless moons. The only ones that had been here longer than him were in bloodsport.

The door to their shack squeaked as it was gradually pushed open. Small steel feet hit the floor as a small figure entered. Roused by this, the Pokemon in their bunks turned over to see, in the darkness, the silhouette of 009, Pawniard, standing there. His cold gaze swept across them as he held a blade over where his mouth would be. _Shh_.

"What the…?" muttered Scraggy.

"The hell's he doing here?" asked a Sentret to herself.

Pawniard spat something onto his left blade before advancing further into the room. "I brought it," he stated matter-of-factly. "It was a pain in the ass to get, mind you, but it's here." Ralts reached into a hole in his mattress and removed a luminescent crystal no bigger than a coin. The dim blue light sputtered on the last of its charge, but it was just enough to cast onto the blade Pawniard extended. His intrigued bunkmates peered over to see the unmistakable gilded luster of a Joy Seed resting on the steel. A series of gasps pierced through the sound of pounding rain. " _Shut it_ ," Pawniard hissed.

"Is that a Joy Seed?" muttered Scraggy.

"Shit, hold on. I'll trade for that," exclaimed a Drilbur, leaning off his bed to fumble through the belongings he smuggled.

"Thank you," Ralts replied. His voice was just as frail and hoarse as he was. Pawniard angled his blade, and the Joy Seed slid off into Ralts' palm. The dainty Psychic-type reached underneath his pillow and pulled out a tiny pebble of a whetstone. "Here. For your troubles."

"Really…?" Pawniard grabbed the stone and scraped his blade along it. Sparks burst from it and vanished into the darkness. "How long have you been keeping this from me?"

"I-I got two Blast Seeds and another luminous gem. The three of those for the Joy Seed," Drilbur exclaimed.

"No, thanks." Ralts tilted his head back and placed the Joy Seed on his tongue. A series of gasps and groans sounded off around the cabin as he swallowed it. The taste of mud and bodily filth assaulted him. "Urgh… where did you get this from?"

"The whores owed me a favor. Who knows what it'd been through before then?" Pawniard shrugged. "You might want to start practicing your Teleport now."

"Yeah… about that." Ralts lowered his voice and leaned towards the Steel-type. "I'm being reserved. Soon enough I'm gonna be taken out of here."

"That's… Well shit," Pawniard muttered.

"If ya' aint gonna trade, shut the hell up," spat Sandshrew. Pawniard dragged his blade along the whetstone, conjuring a flock of sparks that rushed out into the air with an irritating screech. Sandshrew recoiled.

"I…" Ralts paused. He stood up from his bed and tossed his coarse blanket aside. "I just need some fresh air. Sorry, everyone. Go back to sleep." The small Psychic-type walked across the floor under the watchful gaze of his roommates and shuffled through the thin crack in the door. Rain bounced off his slick green cap as he treaded down the dirty cobblestone. Pawniard followed after him and closed the door with another squeak.

"I've been thinking..." Ralts said. Pawniard stopped and gave him the gaze of a single eye. "I don't want to press my luck and wait here. It's possible, but I don't think I can last for two or three more days until they get here."

"And? What're you gonna do?" he asked.

"The ship doesn't leave until the end of next week, so I can't smuggle myself in one of the barrels," Ralts continued. "But today, I remembered… there are the lifeboats, aren't there?"

"You're kidding," Pawniard scoffed.

"I don't see any alternative," Ralts defended.

"How the fuck do you plan to sail out of here? Have you even swam before?" the Steel-type spat.

"About that…" Ralts turned around and looked directly into the hollow yellow eyes of Pawniard. What was normally such an empty, dead gaze now held a filtered glimmer of anger and determination, like a light at the bottom of a murky lake. "You've been taken to the outside world, right?"

"Many times, but Gliscor keeps me locked up," Pawniard explained. "And before you even ask, _no_."

"But I-"

"You don't," he hissed. "Sail by yourself. I'm not gonna drown or starve with you out there."

" _Please_ ," Ralts begged. "I wouldn't know where to go on my own."

"Just because you're sick of this doesn't mean you get to drag me to an early grave. You can't just spring this shit on me and expect me to leave everything behind."

"Leave _what_ behind? Watery soup and blood?" Ralts scoffed.

"For fuck's sake," Pawniard sighed. "Escape if you so please. If you want your coffin to be a cheap wooden boat, I won't stop you. Good luck reaching it, though. Don't get hung up like all the others." Ralts bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Farewell, maybe" Pawniard gave him a casual wave and turned around to his cabin.

"You've always been so stubborn about this," Ralts conceded. He placed his hands together and held them near his chest. "I'll just scout for a little while, but if I get caught…" He shook his head. "I'll come back for you all." Pawniard stopped. He spun around with a low metal scrape and glared at Ralts as a warm golden glow enveloped him. A moment later he was gone. His gaze swept across the landscape, back and forth, over and over, but in the darkness of the rainy night he could not see where he had reappeared.

"That little…!" Pawniard growled and shook his head. "I thought he would have known better. Shame he'll be hung up like the others." The Steel-type passed cabin after rotted cabin, as he had done hundreds of time before. Rain clattered against his metal helm. I wonder what made him like this, he thought. His gaze lowered to the path in front of him. Just because the manager took him off the shelves, he's staging an escape? Never pegged him as the kind of guy to overreact. He paused for a second. Between rows of corn he could see the warped, faint glow of a candle inside the farmhouse just a mile away. The old bat… I wonder if he'd cut this Ralts any slack. A seniority pass, or something like that.

He started walking again. Cabin 6… Cabin 5… Cabin 4… Never got why he kept him around, Pawniard mulled. Don't know how many have come and gone by now, but of all the stock he could keep… Someone as frail as him should've been tossed out years ago. Cabin 3… Cabin 2… Really, a kid like him should've been sold day one. Gliscor's just wasting food at this point. Cabin 1. Pawniard's blade hovered above the handle for a moment. He looked to his left, and then to his right. No one in sight. The Steel-type hooked into the handle and pulled the door open an inch.

But through the night storm, Pawniard heard a sudden crack of thunder off in the distance. At least, he supposed that had been what happened, but there was no flash of light that would normally proceed it. "The hell…?" Pawniard focused in his ears towards where the burst had come from. The rain made it impossible to tell what, but he could certainly pick up something. He looked around again. None of the guards were patrolling, and still that Ralts was nowhere to be seen. Maybe, that noise… Pawniard rolled his eyes and broke into a sprint along the muddied cobblestone path.

It was only two minutes later, as Pawniard was halfway through all the farm fields, that the noise finally stopped. The deafening rain now assaulted his ears, and even still he had not found anything- not even the guards. They should have caught him by now, not that he was complaining. It wasn't until five minutes later that he finally saw something new: a sliver of light cast out into the darkness from the front door of the farm house.

A moment later he had dashed over in front of the window, standing still on the cobblestone path. Inside, an irritated Gliscor slammed open the door to his bedroom and stormed into the livingroom.

"What the shit? I thought I made it clear that no one is allowed inside," Gliscor roared. The gaze of his two yellow eyes fell onto the couch where he would normally conduct his business. There sat a tall, muscular Garchomp with a cup of coffee held by his talon. He lifted the mug to his maw and took a slow sip.

"Mmmm…" Garchomp eyed his coffee carefully. "How neglectful… leaving the coffee for your guests out to get cold. I can't say I'm a fan of it."

"'Guest'? Who the hell are you?" Gliscor looked around the livingroom. They were alone. "I don't have anything scheduled until the day after tomorrow."

"I believe I sent my representative here earlier." Garchomp set down his cold mug on the silver platter. "Miss Noivern gave me some recommendations."

"Did she…?" Gliscor cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, she implied that it would be a few days. I wasn't expecting anyone."

"No no, don't apologize. I didn't even knock," Garchomp waved away. "Not to mention, I'm gonna have to be a little bit assertive here. That Ralts you have… I want him."

"Damn it," Gliscor sighed. He strolled over to the couch opposite the Dragon-type and sat down. "It's too late for this shit. I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told her: he's on reserve."

"I'm aware, despite our generous offer." Garchomp leaned forward and placed his chin upon his claws. "What would it take for me to go home with that kid in tow?"

"You can't. Simple as that," he replied. "He's going to someone else."

"For a tenth of our price? Either you owe this person a debt that could never be repaid…" Garchomp stared ahead with his sickly-yellow irises that shone against the vast black abyss that was his eyes. "... Or you're being threatened." Gliscor froze. Garchomp grinned.

"Stop asking, for your own good," Gliscor warned. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"Don't I?" Garchomp laughed. "I think I have a feeling. They'll kill you all, right?"

"Not that hard to guess," the Ground-type muttered.

"So I guess, now I have to out-threat them…" Garchomp sat up properly and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me?" Gliscor rasped his pincers together.

"They'll take your lives… so I'll take your island," the Dragon-type claimed.

"You think you can take this all for yourself?" Rows of Gliscor's sharp teeth glistened in the light of the lantern as an Ice Fang grew over them.

"For myself?" Garchomp laughed. "No. No no no no. I don't want this shithole for myself. I mean, taking it. From everyone."

"What…?" muttered Gliscor. Pawniard, listening from outside, mimicked him.

"Everything around us… The cliffs and the hills and the mud… the house and the shacks and the docks…" Garchomp cracked a dignified, comforting smile. "The entirety of Keila will be sunk into the ocean."

"W… wh… wh-what?" Gliscor stammered. "Are you fucking insane?"

"Most likely, but that doesn't mean that I'm not serious," Garchomp answered. "Hundreds of thousands of tons of land will fall into the sea. Simple as that. There will be no battle to survive, no mass-slaughter, just- sinking into the ocean. That simple."

"Fuck off," Gliscor growled.

"There's no way…" Pawniard whispered as he stumbled back into the mud. Sinking an entire island? Impossible. An old geezer like that couldn't… He shook his head. Why am I even trying to rationalize this? Bluffing. He's obviously bluffing. Through the rain he couldn't hear it, a slender bipedal figure approached the door. As the knob twisted, another sliver of light extended out to reveal a Zoroark drenched from head to toe.

"I'm finished," she said, shaking herself dry.

"Who is this?" Gliscor demanded.

"My, forgetting me already? How rude," she teased. "We just met earlier today."

"Your voice…" Gliscor growled. "Noivern? But why would you-... wait." The Fang Scorp Pokemon staggered back against the wall. "What did you finish?"

"The guards," Zoroark answered. "They've all been subdued."

"Excellent work," Garchomp nodded. "So? Your choice. Sink into the seas, or give me what I came for."

"There's no way…" Gliscor vigorously shook his head. "Fallen knights and mercenaries… You're bluffing. That's impossible."

"Call for them," Garchomp offered. "You've something like a bell to ring for them, right? Then call for them. Have us thrown out- killed, even, if you think you can." The Dragon-type cracked his neck. Gliscor gulped. Nervously he walked to the other side of the room and pushed a painting of a beach at sunset aside. He reached into a hole behind it and yanked a rope that hung within the wall. A brass bell in the attic swayed from side to side with the rhythmic roars reverberated through the rainy night. One… two… three… four… the gongs grew quieter. Gliscor anxiously looked out the window behind him. Even through his nocturnal eyes there was nothing but mud and stamped-down grass for miles. Seconds turned over into a minute, and that quickly into three, and yet that simple fact didn't change. No one responded.

"Believe us now?" asked a grinning Garchomp.

"You…" Gliscor's speech devolved into a series of gasps and grunts as he struggled to get his breaths. "That's- I- you- … damn it!" He smashed his claws through the glass panes and shattered a series of shards. Some of the few along the frame cut through his tough shell, blood trickling down his arm and onto the hardwood floor. His arm shook, spraying the wall with red like a piece of indecipherable art. "You don't know what you're doing," Gliscor stated. "Just… go back to whatever home you came from."

"Even after all this," Garchomp sighed. His eyes met Zoroark's for a mere moment with a parental warmth and compassion. He wore the start of a bright smile, despite his razor-sharp teeth, with his predatory eyes squinted just so.

"Understood." The slender Dark-type bowed and turned towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Gliscor asked. Zoroark reached for the doorknob and pulled it open. "Wha- hey! Don't ignore me!" The door closed behind her. Screaming for one to not ignore you doesn't help when they already are.

"You," Zoroark said. Her gaze fell towards Pawniard, still laying there in the mud. The Steel-type jolted back in surprise. "Head onto the boat. I'll be there soon."

There were many questions rushing through the child's head right then. Was this Garchomp bluffing? Why did he come here? Why did they want Ralts? And why didn't Gliscor just hand him over? Who did he owe? This torrent of words jumbled around in his skull like a whirlpool. But amongst it all, one single question clung tightly to his mind, refusing to be drowned out amongst the rest. The Steel-type stood up and faced Zoroark, who was now walking along the path. Her fur was matted down in the rain.

"Just who are you two?" Pawniard asked boldly. His hollow yellow gaze stared straight into the Dark-type with the same vigor he would give to the opponents Gliscor had set up for him in the past.

Zoroark feigned a smile and looked back to him. "We're the good guys," she responded. She gave him a polite wave and continued on her way. Pawniard growled to himself. The whetstone he had hidden in his helm began to heat up against his head.

"What is she doing?" Gliscor asked, pointing his bleeding claw to the window.

"Pokemon like you are what keep me up at night," Garchomp began. "I want to believe in the inherent good of the soul. I want to believe that everyone strives towards what is ultimately good, and that conflicts arise when others' pictures of what is best contradict one another. Conflicting ideals. But what you do here…"

"Don't pretend you're the moral arbiter here. You fucking threatened to sink my entire island!" Gliscor spat. "And that doesn't answer my question! What is that skank doing?!"

"These children… Do you know how many of them you've had in your business? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? It must be an impressive amount."

"I lost count, but it must be some eight thousand," Gliscor said. "And I take it you're not answering me about your friend."

Garchomp whistled, or at least whatever the closest thing he could do with his body. "Eight thousand in some four years… Impressive. Eight thousand children taken from their families… sixteen thousand grief-stricken parents who most likely cry to this very day… That's gotta be some kind of record. I gotta ask, what motivates you to strive for these new heights?"

"Hey, it's more complicated than you think," Gliscor barked. Garchomp accusingly raised a brow. "You-... Who even are you?" Gliscor demanded. "Why do you want this kid?"

"I wasn't aware that I had to be someone special to have my morals," Garchomp replied. "But if you must know, I am simply Garchomp. I'm settling down in a small continent called Majula, to the southeast of here. It's in a little village that started up not even a year ago. They called it 'Treasure Town'. Cute name, I know. We found a little trove of treasure some thief buried while digging up a foundation, and the name kinda stuck."

"Treasure town…" Gliscor muttered. His twin hunters' moons lit up as they grew full once again. "Wait, are you… Oh Arceus, you are. The guys who're building that… what did they call it… guild? Is that it?" Garchomp gave him a nod. "Then what the hell are you doing here? I thought this guild was supposed to be… I don't know… it's been a while. But from the way you talk, you sure as hell don't approve of me."

Garchomp cracked his paternal smile once again and tilted his head. "I'm just an old bastard looking for his place in the world," he answered. The puzzled Ground-type gave no response. The Dragon-type leaned back against the couch and stretched his arms out. "Will I get an answer for my previous question? How someone like you can sleep at night?" he asked.

"What do you care?" Gliscor sneered.

"It would be a fascinating glimpse into the mind of someone like you," he said. "And besides, you're trapped here. It's not like you can dodge my questions."

"There's no way out, is there?" The Fang Scorp Pokemon let out a low, deep sigh. His moons went dim behind the clouds that rolled over. "If you really want to know how I tick, then here's your answer: I don't." Garchomp again raised a brow. "Do you really think I chose this life? Who would do something like that?"

"Hmm…" Garchomp closed his eyes and stood up from the couch. He was a hulking figure, towering over Gliscor by a good few feet. If he fully extended his arm he would be reaching into the next floor. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Gliscor."

"But, I-I didn't finish," he stuttered. Gliscor spread himself against the wall and looked around the room. No one but him and this guild guy, for better or worse. Most likely worse. "I- I was finally-"

"No need," Garchomp dismissed. "I get the picture, more or less."

"You can't just-" The Ground-type stopped himself. His fangs rasped against one another. "For the first time in years, I thought someone cared. But you just…" He shook his head and took a deep, shuddery breath. "Fuck off. I'm not gonna just sit here and accept this shit!" Gliscor's tail sprung off the ground and lunged through the glass panes with a volley of shimmering shards around him.

Garchomp shook his head. "You can run all you want," he called towards the Ground-type sprinting through the mud, "but it's not going to help you." He reached over to the table and picked up the lantern, balancing it carefully on his claw. His deep, gravely voice began to hum a melody from far away, and he casually kicked down the wall before continuing on after Gliscor.

"What the hell…?" Pawniard whispered. This isn't… Gliscor...

"Pawniard!" shouted Ralts. Pawniard pivoted around to see the dainty Psychic-type sprinting as much as his body could manage, tripping over his muddied skirt. "Y-you won't believe it, the gua-"

"The guards are gone? Yeah… I heard," Pawniard replied.

"You did?" Ralts slowed down and looked into the window, where the Dragon-type's large figure was lumbering away with the lantern in hard. "Who is that? What happened to the wall?"

"Some old Garchomp. He was talking to Gliscor, and… I don't know anymore." He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. This is all too surreal.

"Then what are you doing out here?" Ralts continued.

"I'd heard something, so I went to check it out, and… I think…" Pawniard swallowed the anxiety that had been building up in his throat, letting it plummet and settle in the pit of his stomach. "I think we're being set free."

"Wh… S-seriously?" stammered the Psychic-type.

"There was another Pokemon with the old guy- a Zoroark. She told me to head to the boat, and then went on towards the shacks. Speaking of…" He turned his head to the west, where the cabins he came from stood.

Some twenty flickering lights from dim luminescent gems moved in a crowd of tiny Pokemon towards them. There were some who walked through the flood from the crack in the celestial dam above, baptising themselves in its glory and coming out clean for the other side, and there were others who raced each other to get as far away as possible, as if they were afraid they would wake up from this dream and never be able to grasp even the illusion of freedom. Pawniard began taking deep, shuddering breaths.

"It couldn't… do you know what this means?" Ralts beamed, forming the first smile since as long as he could remember. He laughed a hoarse laugh and began to look Pawniard directly in his hollow yellow eyes. "We're finally-"

"Free?" Pawniard finished. He nervously scraped his blades together. Ralts' smile withered away into a limp frown. He stepped forward and comfortingly raised his hand towards the Steel-type.

"Are you doing alright?" Ralts asked. Pawniard stopped for a moment and began to mull over his response.

"It's all a bit… sudden," he answered. Some old bastard just shows up out of nowhere and saves us? he internally scoffed. Impossible. There's gotta be something else going on. Ralts approached the Steel-type and placed his soothing hand on Pawniard's cold arm.

"The Zoroark," he said hesitantly. "She said to head to the boat, didn't she? Let's go over there. Maybe everything will be explained." Pawniard looked directly into those twin red gems of Ralts', and immediately that anxiety in his gut began to burn with anger: anger, that he had to suppress and restrain from seeping through to his outer layer. Maybe it was something in the frail child's voice that gave it away, for Pawniard's night vision was not great enough to see all of Ralts' features, but for whatever reason he could see a glimmer in those two red eyes. There was sickening life that emerged from the depths of the murky lake, at the mere possibility of being rescued.

This naive kid… Does he think this is a fucking way out? He hasn't even seen his "hero" yet, and he's getting swept up in hope. How long has he been here now? Pawniard scraped his blades together, more forceful and grating than before. And yet, out of everyone… the "hero" came here for him?

"There you are." The two spun around to see the Zoroark, emerging out of nowhere. Even the glow from the luminescent crystal tied around her neck suddenly flashed into the children's eyes. Thanks, I'd lost where I put myself, Pawniard thought quizaciously. "The others told me you had gone missing. It's good that I found you."

Ralts nodded. "We were-"

"No need to explain yourself," Zoroark dismissed. "Run along. We'll be right with you."

"Oh… Thank you." Ralts proceeded to bow to the Dark-type, who in turn put a paw to the back of her head and looked away. Pawniard began to carefully observe Zoroark with his usual sharp gaze. Ralts, noticing this, cleared his throat and stepped towards her. "Who are you, anyways?" he asked.

"We're the good guys," she answered, putting on another smile. "We'll explain everything when everyone's together. Okay?"

"Sure," Ralts nodded, a little unsatisfied. Retaining her furled lips, Zoroark's hand wrapped around her gem and snuffed out the light. She took two steps back and proceeded to disappear without a trace. A few moments of silence passed between the two kids. Ralts cleared his throat. Pawniard did nothing. "Let's…" Ralts fumbled around in his mind for the words- for the simple words that hid out of fear from the hollow yellow gaze. He grasped them all by their squirming legs and forced them into line as he stammered out his sentence, "Let's just go."

"Right," Pawniard felt himself say. He spun around and began walking towards the boat bobbing up and down in the waves. Countless times had he walked this path with Gliscor, chains binding his wrists and knives together, surrounded by much larger Pokemon. Behind him would trail all the others in his field. Not once was the line that was departing the same as the line that arrived. To walk this path unbound felt forbidden. He was violating the laws that God had etched into his brain. This was taboo, and he knew it.

None of this felt right to him. He heard the old bastard himself- Garchomp wanted Ralts, and quite badly if he's allegedly going to destroy this island for him. Whatever he wants, Pawniard didn't trust him. Heroes? What a load of shit. They were up to something, and it couldn't be good if they're going to these extremes. And right next to him was, if he was right, their means to accomplish this. A frail kid like him… It'd be so easy to get rid of him. The others were still far enough behind them that no one could see him do it, either. Looking down at him only reminded him of this. It would be so, so easy to snuff him out. He would be rid of that sickening glimmer in his eyes that came about because of them… and yet…

And yet, he found that his arms wouldn't move. Pawniard couldn't bring himself to end the kid, who was probably smiling for the first time he could remember. Kinship, he accused it on. Except for him, Ralts had been there longer than anyone else. Prior to today, he had not been unlike him. This glimmer was only an occasional thing that would pop up every time he would form a plan to escape. Not once was he successful. Every time he would be beaten and locked up in the same metal box Pawniard had been in, and that glimmer in his eyes would be submerged in the muck at the bottom of the lake, only to awaken and struggle for air some months later. What the Steel-type felt was neither admiration nor adoration, nor anything he could name at the time, but regardless, he wanted Ralts to come out of this alive. And to ensure this, he'd have to stay by his side, for the time being.

…

It had only been thirty minutes since Gliscor ran off into the rain. The children didn't hesitate to get onto the deck of the ship. Each of the ropes connecting it to the dock had been severed by the precise claws of Zoroark before she hopped on board with them and let the ship drift away in the churning waves. For minutes after she boarded she had been swarmed by them and barraged with gratitude and questions, as one would naturally want to know who their savior was. She merely replied in the same kind voice she addressed them in before that they needed to wait a moment longer, and that they should try to dry up below deck.

They had heeded her warning for the most part, as all but a handful retreated under cover. As a Steel-type, Pawniard hadn't the need to worry about the cold, so he opted to stay above. He leaned against the railings on the bow, hoisting himself up so he could see the silhouette of Keila drifting farther and farther away from him. It wasn't even an hour ago that he considered this his home. The further it was from him, the stronger the magnetic pull that tried to draw him back.

But over the sound of the pouring rain Pawniard was brought to reality by the sound of metal clasping shut behind him. Startled he let go of the railing and landed on the ground, pivoting around to face the source. There stood the Zoroark once again, moving her hand to a bag by her hip and tucking away a pocket watch.

"Why aren't you inside with everyone else?" she asked. "You might have a resistance to it, but you can still get sick."

"What's with the watch?" Pawniard growled back.

"Fine then," she sighed. The Dark-type strolled over to the railing next to the kid and rested her elbows on the wood. "There's a show about to start. If you're out here already, you might as well watch." Pawniard gritted his teeth back at her, but all she did was fixate her gaze on the outline of the island as the waves lapped at the cliffsides. His curiosity got the better of him, so he jumped up again to try and grasp the banister. The wet wood was slick however, and with the waves now stronger further out to sea, he couldn't manage to hold himself up. Zoroark chuckled and swooped down to the kid, gently grabbing him by the waist and placing him on her shoulders. She swept her braid of hair to the side and just on top of his leg.

"Wha- hey!" Pawniard barked. He held his knives up above his head and began to push and kick at her. "Let me go!" he screamed in embarrassment. Zoroark cracked a sly smile and secured him in place. "Listen to me, damn it! I said-... to…" Abruptly he stopped.

Those hollow yellow eyes stared upon the island. The clouds above it broke and cast a beam of moon and starlight upon the mud and grass. And oh, how the clouds broke, bathing the entirety of Keila in the glow of the cosmos. It was as if for a few brief seconds, God's eye finally looked upon the island and the atrocities that happened there.

Then came His judgment. The waves that approached the cliffs broke and frothed against the steep shores. Rocks and boulders were shook loose and fell into the ocean with a thousand splashes.

"H-hey." Pawniard called for Zoroark's attention. "What the hell's-"

"Shh. It's about to happen," she said.

Before he could ask there rang a deafening crack like a roar of thunder. The surface of the water quivered. The cargo ship lurched some fifty feet away from the island. Even the storm clouds rippled and stirred as an unseen shockwave pushed them away and expanded the radius of light. A fissure ripped the island in half. Chunks of stone and mud fell into the sea as the cracks spread. Two pieces became three, three into five, five into eight, eight to sixteen, sinking one by one beneath the surface. Waves climbed and fell like a child thrashing about in the pool. And then, there was nothing. The entirety of Keila had been smitten off the map, with only the heaven's spotlight to mark what was there. The farmhouse, the fields, the shack, the mud, and even the rain… Gone. All of it.

"Holy fuck…" Pawniard whimpered.

"Enjoy the show?" Zoroark asked playfully. She gently picked Pawniard up from her shoulders and put him down on the deck. The clouds had thinned out above the ship so only a sprinkle fell upon them. Lured by the noise, curious children had emerged above deck to see what the ruckus was all about, albeit too late to see anything but the spotlight and the turbulence.

"Wh…" His hands, or the knives where his hands would be, quivered with an emotion he could not identify. His teeth were gritted and he shuddered with each breath. The blood in his veins hovered just above the point of freezing. "Wh-who the h-hell are you two?!" Pawniard stammered, pointing a shaking knife at the other Dark-type.

Zoroark exhaled out of her nose and turned around. Behind the small Steel-type were some five dozen other Pokemon trying to piece together the situation. The fox grinned and sat herself on the top of the railing, one leg crossed over the other and her chin resting in the palm of her left hand. She said nothing. Her soft blue eyes set directly on the frail Ralts in the back of midst of the group.

Nearly that very second the silence was split by the thunk of a harpoon thrusting into the wood of the banister. The children flinched in unison. Zoroark didn't noticeably react. From the back of the harpoon the rope was abruptly pulled taut to the sound of a distant grunt. It began to relax a second later, only to be followed by another pull and another grunt just barely louder than the last. The curious murmur again swam through the kids as more and more emerged to see what was going on, but no one dared to ask Zoroark herself.

It was just when the grunts were close enough to hear the gravel in their voice when the rope finally seemed to stay loose for more than half a second. A figure rocketed into the air and, just as quickly, crashed down near the bow of the ship on his feet. Pawniard jumped back reflexively, now amongst the rest of the crowd. The old bastard Garchomp stood up straight and stretched out his arms and legs, ignorant of the audience built up around him. Only after his elbows popped did he take notice to them, as he froze and swept his gaze across them.

"Oh…" He paused for a moment and looked around awkwardly. "I suppose you saw all that… Sorry to've kept you. Someone didn't tell me I had guests waiting." Zoroark pretended not to have heard him. Garchomp turned back to the kids. "I've never been great with words, so… I suppose I should start with an introduction." The great Dragon-type coughed twice. "My name is Garchomp. I run a little place to the south in Majula with Zoroark here." She raised her other hand and waved to the children. "And… Yeah, you're all free now. Congrats."

A choir of hoarse, frail voices replied to him at once with an amalgamation of questions. Pawniard's own rageful demand for who the hell they really were was drowned out amongst cries of gratitude. Looking for the only support he might get, he turned his head to look to Ralts. His fear had been proven- there Ralts stood, staring in awe at the grand Garchomp. Half-hidden behind his green cap those twin rubies shined like dying stars. His open mouth was curled into a smile, like if he were laughing. It was only when that ember of anger began to burn in his chest when Garchomp began to act again.

The Dragon-type chuckled as he addressed them. "Easy there. I can't answer all've you like this. It's late at night, and I'm sure you're all exhausted. If I'm not mistaken, the crew's quarters for this model of ship is… Second floor from the bottom, towards the rear. I'm sure it's gotta be more comfortable than what you've been exposed to before." Zoroark nodded to confirm. "Tomorrow I'll explain everything, but don't you worry- I'll ensure that each of you will find home. Sleep well." Garchomp flashed them a big, goofy smile full of jagged teeth. Some did protest, but it didn't take long for them to give up on the old bastard for the night and decide that tomorrow would be a better day to try. He waved his claw at them all as they retreated out of the dying storm. Last to leave, Pawniard shot Garchomp a single glare before slamming the hatch behind him.

"You really showed off there. Breaking through the clouds? Liiiiiittle bit of overkill," Zoroark said.

"Maybe," Garchomp shrugged. "Speaking of… Oi, Excadrill! You can come up now!"

"'Kay," Excadrill moaned. The rope on the harpoon was pulled taut as the mole began to climb up from their small boat to the deck of the cargo ship. Garchomp offered him a claw and pulled the Ground-type up.

"You did great making the weak points. Thanks." The Mach Pokemon patted him on the shoulder.

"Mmmm… I'm tired. Don't bother me until the sun rises," Excadrill demanded before lumbering off to the captain's quarters.

"You've earned it," Garchomp said. Excadrill waved back to him. "I gotta thank Magnezone when we back to Majula. His math was on point. Not a single stone left above ground."

"I'm curious though. How much do you think you could've gotten without the weak points?" Zoroark asked him.

"Hmm…" He scratched his rough chin with his paw. "It was awfully muddy, so that'd take away a lot of the impact from Earthquake… I'm not used to mud, so I can't say. Dry? Maybe about… half of it. No more than two thirds. I"ve never tried before. This might've been a good test, but… well, you saw it. Impressive, wasn't it?"

"I'll give you that. Although, you would've really been their hero if you followed it up with a good speech," she sassed him.

"Yeah… I messed up there. Here's to tomorrow clearing things up," he shrugged. "But even still… Did you see the look on their faces?" Garchomp's jagged teeth fit into place, and his eyes, normally horrifying golden rings hovering in the emptiness of the voids, stared wistfully into the distance as he formed a small, gentle smile. "They looked at me like I really was a hero. This guild thing… If every time we get to see gratitude like this, that alone might make it worth it."

"I'll admit, it was oddly satisfying. Especially the look on our little lord. That was downright precious," she cooed.

"Guys like that Gliscor are all over the place, and needless to say, that's terrible," Garchomp continued. "But I've gotta say, nothing shines as brilliantly as when hope bursts out of despair, and emerges all the stronger for it."

Zoroark smugly chuckled to herself. "Not terrible, but you should leave your speech-writing to someone else."

"Yeah," Garchomp agreed. The sprinkling rain around him ceased altogether. Breaks in the cloud began to form, casting stalks of moonlight onto the churning seas. Wood gently creaked as the waves lulled the boat back and forth like a cradle. "Really though, I've high hopes for this guild. Who knows how long it'll last, but deep down, I know we'll change the world for the better."

"Big talk for someone who's only just started trying," she toyed. "Especially for something so ambitious. Your job will never be finished, you know."

"Isn't a steady job what everyone dreams of?" Garchomp jested.

"Should've expected that," Zoroark sighed. She hopped off the banister and strutted past the Dragon-type. "Good luck tonight. Someone needs to keep us on course."

"I got it," he exhaled. The Dragon-type stood there for a few minutes longer, simmering his thoughts in the cold, salty air before removing the harpoon from the wood and fastening the small boat. Whistling a melody from a distant land, Garchomp began to peruse around the deck.

Pawniard removed his ear from the ceiling and deftly dropped down to the floor beneath the surface. Moonlight filtered in from between the planks of wood, revealing the particles and mist that had formerly been dancing around him in the darkness. To his dismay nothing he overheard was condemning or conclusive to any degree, but, he knew that there had to be something. There had to be. Heroes aren't real, Pawniard muttered to himself, descending to the floor beneath his and followed in suit of the others to the crew's quarters.

* * *

I don't really like writing these little notes at the end of the chapters, for they tend to kind of break the flow, but I suppose acknowledging that I'm doing something wrong doesn't fix that I'm doing something wrong, and neither does acknowledging that I'm acknowledging. So I'm just going to break this meta joke and get on with what I have to say.

If you didn't know, this isn't a complete story. It's a series of "memories" as we'll call them, or essentially just flashbacks or "special episodes", from a bunch of characters from a main story. I'd like to apologize to anyone who clicked on this without having read the source material, for this won't mean munch to you. You can stay here if you want and read about a bunch of characters you don't know, or I can shamelessly plug the main story by telling you to go to my profile and find what is currently the only other work I have on there. Or you can just say _fuck you_ and do something else. I can't stop you. These are just letters.

In general, this will not be updated as much as the main story, as I'll be working on this either in short bursts or when I get bored of writing out the main story. Sometimes I need a change in the scene, as they can get a bit tedious or exhausting at times. I'll be putting all of the "memories" (because I couldn't just settle for a normal name like "special episodes". Look at my pen name. I have expectations to uphold) in this little side story because, simply, they're optional. They're not required. Consider them a playlist of OVAs. They serve only to give characters a spotlight without taking time from the main story.

Oh, and one last thing. If for some reason you want to keep reading, just know that I'm actually co-writing this with someone else. We won't be alternating "memories" as we do with chapters in the main story, so you'll just have to assume by whose character it is. Despite appearing in the second author's chapters, Pawniard, better known as Bisharp, is actually my character, but that's the only one that might not be too clear. I've written his dialogue and the scene where he's alone in his room myself. What should be the next memory will be written by my co-writer, who's referred to as Rabbit.

That's about it. I made it kinda long because I wont be doing these often. Whatever you decide to do, have a wonderful day.


	2. Memory: Persian

In the Milada Archipelago, there was a small island owned entirely by one Pokémon. Right in the middle of that island was a large manor surrounded by beautiful gardens of colorful flowers and large, expansive meadows of healthy green grass. The property held an overall peaceful aura, arising no suspicion of what had only recently transpired inside.

In the main hall of the manor, the master of the house laid on the velvet carpet. A great Empoleon, the life drained from his eyes as his blood pooled around his soft blue feathers from a gaping wound in his neck and a stab wound in his chest.

Standing over him was a bloodstained Meowth. His fur was matted and unkempt, and his ribcage could be seen under his skin. Blue feathers stuck to the blood around his muzzle, torn from a chunk of meat that was taken from the Empoleon's neck.

The cat gripped a bloody steak knife in his paw. He could still feel the resistance of Empoleon's skin when he had thrusted the knife into his body. He was able to perfectly envision the Water-type writhing in pain as he had been only a few moments ago. Meowth put a paw on Empoleon's body. It was still warm. He looked around the room, sweeping his gaze over the expensive furniture and dazzling wall ornaments. His eyes shone with excitement and adrenaline, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he cracked a smile.

"I didn't think there was a slave stupid enough to kill their master on the Milada archipelago." Meowth's smile immediately dropped as he twirled around to see a Milotic standing in the doorway, his fan-like tail held regally in front of him.

Meowth lowered his head warily, pointing his blade at the Water-type. "Whoa there," Milotic raised his tail defensively. "I don't plan on attacking you, so put it away, will ya?" Meowth reluctantly lowered the knife, but kept a firm grip on it. "You can talk, can't you?" Milotic asked. Meowth nodded. _Why don't I believe you?_ Milotic thought sarcastically. "How old are you?" Meowth looked away. Milotic sighed, "Well, it doesn't matter. You're done for either way." He moved to turn around, but stopped when he felt Meowth's alarmed gaze. "What, you didn't expect this to happen?" Milotic looked back at Meowth apathetically. "You _did_ kill someone."

Meowth lowered his gaze to the knife in his paw, still covered in blood. He then looked back at Milotic with a firm, certain stare.

Milotic laughed. "You're prepared to fight, eh? I like that attitude! Someone as foolhardy as you isn't suited for slavery, huh?" Meowth tensed as the Water-type slithered towards him, but before he could attack, Milotic wrapped his tail around him, restraining his arms, and lifted him off the ground.

"Hey! Let go!" Meowth growled as he kicked his legs.

"Oh? You _can_ talk!" Milotic exclaimed in amusement.

"I told you that before," Meowth grumbled.

"Well, how come you haven't spoken a single word before now?" Milotic asked.

"Because I didn't have anything to say to _you,_ " Meowth spat.

"How rude," Milotic moved towards the door, "you'll fit right in." He smirked as he carried the Normal-type behind him.

"What do you mean? Let me down!" Meowth squirmed, but Milotic said no more as he carried the cat out of the Empoleon's manor.

…

After a while, Meowth grew quiet, calmly assessing his situation as the Milotic carried him through the town and into the woods. He had tried to twist his wrist to stab the Milotic with his knife, but with his arms pinned at his sides, he couldn't reach.

In the woods, Milotic brought Meowth to a small clearing, where a Cinccino was sitting. The smaller Pokemon stood up when he saw the Water-type.

"Welcome back," Cinccino greeted, then looked at the Meowth wrapped in Milotic's tail. "Who's this?"

"Empoleon's slave and murderer," Milotic stated almost proudly. Meowth glared at the rodent as if issuing a challenge.

"Heh, no kidding? This brat?" Cinccino eyed Meowth appraisingly.

"I know, right?" Milotic lowered Meowth to the ground. "I go to visit Empoleon, and instead I see- ah!" As soon as Milotic released his grip on Meowth, the small cat dashed towards the trees.

Meowth sprinted through the woods, distancing himself from the two strangers as much as possible.

 _Idiots,_ Meowth laughed quietly, _they should have known I'd take off._ But promptly after, Meowth skidded to a stop. Thoughts began pooling into his mind all at once. Where was he supposed to go from here? Why did Milotic let him go? Why did those two seem unfazed by Meowth's crimes? But the question that screamed out above all the rest: why did Milotic kidnap him?

No matter how Meowth looked at it, it wasn't normal. If someone saw a slave lash out against their master, they'd beat the slave into submission, or call for the slave hunters to capture it. Yet Milotic seemed to be saving Meowth by removing him from the crime scene.

Suddenly, the reason became as clear as day. Meowth glared down at his paws, pivoted around, and trudged back to the clearing, where Milotic and Cinccino were waiting confidently.

"See? Told you he was smart," Milotic boasted.

"And here I thought I met a nice Pokemon who freed me from my chains," Meowth growled.

Milotic laughed, "not quite. What made you turn back?"

"Isn't it obvious? If I didn't, you'd run to the town and tell them how I killed my master," Meowth looked away.

"Very good!" Milotic hummed in a patronizing tone.

"So, what do you want?" Meowth asked irritably.

"Oh, nothing much. I just want you to come with me," Milotic answered.

"Where?" Meowth pressed.

"It's a surprise," Milotic smiled.

"And if I refuse?" Meowth glared up at him.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Milotic threatened.

Meowth looked from Milotic to Cinccino, then sighed. "Fine. I'll follow you."

"That's the spirit! Cinccino, prepare to return to Arushar!"

…

Meowth followed Milotic and Cinccino to the shore, where a Braviary stood waiting for them. The red bird wore a harness on his back.

"Welcome back," Braviary greeted them.

"We're taking this kid with us," Milotic gestured to Meowth. "I know you've already got a load to carry, but can you carry him, too?"

"No problem!" Braviary sat down to let the two Normal-types climb up onto his back. Meowth awkwardly laid beside Cinccino on the bird's back, holding on to the harness with his paws.

"We're ready," Cinccino declared.

"Alright, I'll meet you guys there." Milotic moved onto the wooden dock. "Have a safe trip!" With a single wave of his tail, he jumped off the dock and dove into the water below.

"We'd better not keep him waiting," Cinccino stated.

"Right. Hold on tight," Braviary spread his wings and took flight with the two Normal-types on his back. As the bird lifted off the ground, he approached a wooden crate with a handle at the top. Braviary grabbed the handle and lifted the crate with him as he flew off towards the sea.

Meowth looked out at the sea in awe, amazed at the sheer vastness of the water.

Braviary glanced back and smiled at Meowth's child-like wonder, "have you ever seen the ocean before?" He asked. Meowth didn't respond. "From the looks of you, you used to be a slave, right?" Braviary persisted.

 _Used to be._ Those words seemed unreal to Meowth. It finally began to sink in that Meowth's life will be different from now on.

"Don't expect anything from this one," Cinccino laughed, "the only one he's spoken to is Milotic."

"What? What's up with that?" Braviary asked. "You won't get anywhere in life if you don't learn how to talk to Pokemon."

Meowth simply stared out at the open sea with an odd fixation of the vastness of it. _What kind of treasures are hidden in its depths?_ He wondered. _What secrets does it keep from the Pokémon of the land?_

…

In the small town of Churchwell, Meowth followed three paces behind Milotic and his comrades as they strode down the gravel road. The cat looked around curiously at the scenery. Brick buildings of all different sizes lined the path, and many different Pokemon walked into and out of them.

As Meowth watched the passing Pokemon, he didn't notice that Milotic had stopped. Meowth stopped beside the Water-type, then looked up at him awkwardly.

"You don't have to walk behind me, you know," Milotic pointed out. "I'd actually prefer it if you stood beside me instead."

Meowth looked down at the ground, embarrassed at falling into old habits. "Okay," he mumbled with a slight nod.

"It's okay. It'll take time to build up your confidence. How long have you been a slave? Your whole life?" Milotic asked. Meowth nodded. "Well, from the looks of you, that's gotta be at least ten years."

Milotic turned and began moving again, Cinccino and Braviary following close behind. Meowth did a little skip in order to walk beside the Water-type.

…

Meowth was led from the town up to a tall, steep mountain. The peak was so pointed, it looked like a spear. The small cat stared up at it in awe, his head tipped back and his mouth gaping wide. His eyes glimmered at the thought of all that was hidden in its rocky territory.

"This mountain is called Skyspear Mountain," Cinccino explained, "you can probably guess why."

Meowth looked up towards the summit, almost hidden by low hanging clouds, as he walked beside Milotic. "Are we going to climb that?" He turned to look at the Water-type skeptically.

"Not all the way, no. Only about halfway," Milotic responded, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Meowth, you sure know how to make a Pokemon feel unloved," Cinccino sighed. "You completely ignore me, then turn around and chat with Milotic…"

"Don't let it bother ya!" Milotic laughed, "He's a quiet one."

The group made their way up the mountain, chatting idly as they walked. Meowth listened to their conversation intently, but didn't say anything to join in. After a while, they changed direction and left the path to travel in the dense woodland.

"The trees grew back quite quickly." Braviary commented, "No one would even guess that there was a fire here a few years ago."

Meowth looked around. It was true that there were faint signs of a fire having ravaged the area: a few burnt tree stumps and singed grass, but it mostly looked like a healthy forest. As he walked, the cat could feel dozens of pairs of eyes staring at him from all directions, sizing him up. He thought he could also hear faint whispers in the wind. When he turned to look, however, he could see nothing. He was forced to continue walking, his fur on end.

Soon, the four of them arrived at an old mansion. The building looked like it was on its last leg, with large cracks in the walls, broken windows, and even one of the large double doors falling off its hinges.

"This is our hideout," Milotic explained. "It's where I hang out and receive reports from my subordinates. You two are dismissed," he added to Braviary and Cinccino. The two of them nodded and quickly left to return to their own duties.

Meowth followed the Water-type into the building to find the inside wasn't much better than the exterior. Paint was chipping off the walls and various claw marks were hatched along the wood underneath. The floorboards were rotten through and they seemed to threaten to give way under Meowth's paws.

"Watch the third step. It'll collapse on you," Milotic warned as he slithered up the stairs. They moaned under his weight. Meowth followed him, cautiously stepping over the step indicated. Milotic watched him from the top with an apprehensive gaze. Once Meowth reached the top, Milotic breathed a small, almost inaudible sigh before continuing to the master bedroom.

"This is the only room that's actually used," Milotic told him. "There's still a kitchen and dining room and whatnot, but they're only used to stage fights now."

"Let's skip the tour. I'd like to get to work as soon as possible," Meowth replied curtly.

"Uh, sure. What do you want to do?" Milotic asked.

"What do you mean?" Meowth tipped his head.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now what kind of organization I run," Milotic suggested.

"I've overheard your conversations with my master," Meowth responded.

"Well, this syndicate is divided into several sections, each one specializing in their own tasks. There's assassination, theft…"

"Just put me with the one that you need the most help with," Meowth insisted.

"Well, that would be the prostitution business, but…" Milotic hesitated.

"I'll do that, then." Meowth decided.

"Wait a moment. Are you even old enough?" Milotic asked.

"I should be roughly… Nineteen years old," the cat informed him.

"You 'should be'?" Milotic repeated.

"Well, it's a bit hard to keep track of your age when you're not even given a calendar." Meowth retorted.

"I see… I guess that's an appropriate age. However," Milotic looked down at Meowth, "it's a dangerous business, and no one would want a baby faced gigolo. Therefore, before you can do anything else for me, you first need to evolve."

Meowth nodded, "I'll get on it, then."

"There's a lot of high level Pokémon in this forest," Milotic advised, "I'll have someone train you against them."

Suddenly, there was a boisterous _crack_ of wood splitting, followed shortly by something crashing on the floor. Milotic and Meowth left the bedroom and looked down at the first floor to see a Miltank had kicked one of the doors off its hinges.

"Mil, I told you to quit doing that," Milotic sighed, "I need those doors, believe it or not."

"Milotic, just what do you think you're doing?!" the Miltank shouted. "I heard from Unfezant that you took in another stray!" Meowth instinctively shrunk down in his pelt, but Miltank quickly spotted him beside the Water-type. "I can't believe you!" she scoffed.

"This one is different, though," Milotic defended. "I can tell."

"Different? He looks like yet another street rat to me," Miltank spat.

"No, he's interesting! He used to be a slave down on the Milada Islands," Milotic explained almost proudly. "He killed his master with a kitchen knife." Miltank eyed Meowth warily. Meowth suddenly felt very self-conscious about his matted fur and dirty appearance.

"He says he wants to be a gigolo," Milotic continued, "so he'll be under your care soon."

Miltank looked away sharply. "No gigolo of mine would look like that. Fix him up before sending him my way. I expect a handsome Persian by the end of the week, or I'll kill 'im myself."

"The end of the- that's too soon!" Milotic protested.

"Then you'd best get started. If you really want me to believe this one is special, you're gonna have to prove it." Miltank waved her hoof as she turned to leave.

"Well," Milotic turned to Meowth, "since we suddenly have a time limit, we'd better start right away."

…

Jumping from a low level all the way to evolution was certainly strenuous, but Meowth quickly developed a knack for combat. Within the week allotted, he quickly evolved, then worked harder to be able to win against the forest Pokémon without any help. Once the weekend rolled around, the Meowth, now a Persian, went to report to Milotic.

He entered the old mansion confidently, leaving faint paw prints of blood on the wooden floor as he climbed the stairs.

"Milotic, I've come to report on my progress," Persian called from the doorway of the master bedroom.

The Water-type slid over and stood in front of the cat, looking him up and down. "You certainly look stronger- more confident," he commented. "Breaking your habits, are you? That's good.."

"Thank you." Persian dipped his head.

"Don't thank me, and raise your head," Milotic instructed. "Your fur is still as filthy as ever. Hold still." Suddenly, the Tender Pokémon shot out a blast of water, rinsing off the Normal-type.

Persian shook the water off and stood still as Milotic smoothed his fur over with his tail. "It's cold," Persian complained.

"Quit whining. If Miltank isn't impressed, she'll give you a hard time." Milotic responded. "There." He moved back to get a better look at the cat. With his fur clean and sleek, Persian looked almost like a different Pokémon. "Now hurry up. Braviary is waiting outside to take you to Miltank's place."

Outside the mansion, the Flying-type was indeed waiting for the cat. "You ready to go?" he asked, bending down to make it easier to climb onto his back. With a nod, Persian gingerly stepped up and laid on the bird's back. "I preferred it when you were smaller," Braviary grunted.

"You can do it!" Milotic called from the window. "I believe in you!" His voice held a faint mocking tone.

"What a slave-driver," Braviary groaned as he began to take off. With a running start, he was able to lift off and climb up above the trees.

The bird grunted with every flap of his wings until he was able to get up over the breeze, where he began gliding more effortlessly. Persian looked down as the old mansion became hidden among the many trees. The mountain was still so huge, even from their height.

"So, you're gonna be a prostitute?" Braviary asked as he soared around the large spire. Persian didn't respond. "I'm not judging you or anything. You do what you want. I just think it's an odd choice. Persian ignored the bird as he watched the ground race by underneath them. Braviary attempted a few more conversation starters, then lapsed into a sullen silence.

After a while, a large mountain range began approaching them, stretching out as far as Persian could see in both directions. "What's that?" Persian asked.

"The mountain range?" Braviary was surprised by Persian's sudden question. "That's the Sawtooth Mountains. It's kind of like a border between the east part of the continent and the west part." He explained proudly.

"I see," Persian replied, then returned to his silent watch of the horizon.

"We're going to pass over the mountain range, since we're going to a desert city on the other side," Braviary continued. "It's named Scarlet City. Called that because everything looks red at sunset."

Braviary continued his chatter, hoping to catch Persian's interest on a variety of subjects. Persian sat silently for the rest of the flight until they finally reached the desert city of Scarlet City. Persian gazed at all the tan colored buildings as he followed Braviary through the streets.

"Nice of you to finally show up." Persian turned to look in front of him, where Miltank stood outside a large red building. The red brick stood out against the many cream colors of its neighbors.

"We came as soon as we could," Braviary apologized. "This is Persian, he will be under your care from today on." He waved a wing towards the cat.

Persian once again felt the judging stare of the cow as she looked him up and down. "You're certainly cleaner than when I last saw you. I was sure you'd come here all ratty and gross." Miltank commented. "Fine, you pass, I guess. Come in." She turned and entered the red building.

"Good luck," Braviary told Persian. "You're gonna need it." Without another word the Flying-type took off.

Persian followed Miltank into the building to find the inside looked a lot like a restaurant. Booths with large marble tables and velvet seats held many Pokémon laughing and enjoying themselves.

As Miltank walked down the center of the room, Persian noticed many of the Pokémon bowing their heads to her. He followed her closely, feeling the eyes of many of the diners burning into him.

Miltank led him to a back door, and ushered him in. The door led to a hallway with deep red carpets and many doors on either side. "I'm sure this place is very different than what you were expecting from a brothel," Miltank commented. "We do have a more demeaning side, but I prefer to make this job fun for my subordinates."

She turned and peered out into the main room, then called, "Mienshao, can you come over here?"

Persian could see the Fighting-type sitting at a table with a couple others. She stood up, excused herself, and strode up to the two in the hallway.

"What's up, Mama?" she asked.

"This boy here came to us straight from Milotic to be a gigolo," Miltank explained. "I was hoping you could give him a little lesson."

Mienshao smiled at Persian, "From Milo himself, huh? Must be pretty special then."

"Milotic seems to think so. I think he's just another stray," Miltank scoffed.

"Stray? This handsome cat?" Mienshao put a paw under Persian's chin. Persian froze, staring straight forward at nothing.

"Quit teasing him. You're making him uncomfortable," Miltank smirked.

"Alright, alright. A lesson, huh?" Mienshao thought for a moment. "Well, that should be easy enough. Let's go sit down." She sauntered over to one of the doors in the hallway, then pushed it open and led the way inside.

Persian followed her in to find the interior of the room looked a lot like a bedroom. There was a small table with two chairs, a large bed, and a nightstand. Everything seemed to be shaded in a dark red hue.

"Sit down," Mienshao nodded to the chair across from her as she sat at the table. Persian climbed up onto the chair and sat down as instructed.

"I'll leave him to you, then. I'll be back later to check on you," Miltank informed as she left the room.

"So, let me guess. You're the mysterious type who only talks when necessary, right?" Mienshao leaned over the table. Persian twitched his whiskers. "It's fine to act cool - in fact, it might win you a few hearts - but if you just sit in silence, you'll bore your guest to death." Mienshao explained. "You need to keep her interested. Talk to her. It doesn't really matter what you talk about, so long as she's interested. For you, good subjects of conversation might be… your past, her life, or hobbies. Also, be sure to make her feel special. Guys come here to feel like kings, but girl come to be treated like a princess. Be gentle, and make her feel like 'the one.'"

"The one?" Persian tipped his head.

"Yeah, you know, the love of your life. Your soul mate. _The one,_ " Mienshao elaborated. "Here, let's do a practice conversation. Pretend you just brought me in for a drink. Feel free to use any methods to win my affections. And try to smile when you feel it's appropriate."

 _Talk about my past_. Persian took a moment to formulate his words before he took a swift breath and lowered his head."You know, until recently I'd been a slave all my life. If there was any semblance of a family I had before then, I couldn't tell you about it," he began. Mienshao blinked and raised an eyebrow. "The only life I knew was retained within strict rules and heavily enforced discipline. My master was a bitter Pokemon, and his manor was all I knew of the world. That is, until recently." He raised his gaze to meet Mienshao's stunning red eyes. They were like the dusk of Scarlet City, like dying embers in desperate need of tending and kindling. "I've not seen much of the world yet, but what I have so far has filled me with awe. Vast expanses of water glistening in the sunlight, a mighty mountain range that slices the sky in two, a red sun that basks a tired desert city in its glow… I'm sure there's much I've yet to see that would make me question the nature of this world, but I'd be hardpressed to find something as breathtaking as the sight that sits in front of me."

"Goodness!" Mienshao put a paw over her mouth as she blushed.

"I've returned." Persian turned to see Miltank enter the room. A Growlithe stood beside her, exuding overbearing confidence with an arrogant smirk and a puffed out chest. "This is Growlithe. He's gonna be your partner from now on."

"Partner?" Persian repeated.

"Yeah. Everyone works in pairs here. You two will be like complementary colors, accenting each other. If a guest finds a trait she fancies in one of you, the other will enhance it, make it even more appealing." Miltank explained.

"Pleasure to meet you," Growlithe grinned. Persian nodded.

"Now, your training will begin. Let's go out to the main room." Miltank ordered.

Persian hopped off the chair and left the room.

"Mama," Mienshao pulled Miltank back. "I think we've found a natural lady-killer."

"Really now?" Miltank gave a skeptical smile. "Are you sure that's not just your personal preferences talking?"

"Of course not. He lies like a pro, effortlessly spewing this sob story about being a slave in order to set himself up for a dazzling compliment," Mienshao explained.

"Well, that's probably because he _was_ a slave." Miltank replied.

"Oh, he was… Wait, _what?_ " Mienshao looked fiercely at Miltank. "You brought a _former slave_ here?"

"Sure. We all have our pasts," Miltank shrugged.

"Yes, but he's probably from the Milada Islands, right? If they hear we liberated one of their slaves…" Mienshao hissed.

"We didn't liberate him. He apparently killed his master on his own. Look, as far as anyone knows, we just picked up a stowaway on our last visit. I'll make sure he doesn't go around telling everyone, so let's not make this a big deal," Miltank explained.

"Fine," Mienshao sighed, "but I don't like it…"

…

Over the next few weeks, Persian began making a name for himself as a gigolo. He quickly became more experienced in bed than he was in battle. Both he and Growlithe took Scarlet City by storm as the most popular rookie duo.

As Persian and Growlithe sat at a table with two girls, a Raichu and Linoone, the front door opened to let in Milotic, carrying a small bag on his tail.

"Welcome!" the escorts greeted in unison.

"Who's that?" Raichu asked.

"He's kind of like the owner of this place," Growlithe explained. "He's Mama Miltank's boss."

"I see. That's why he gets a big greeting, huh?" Linoone commented.

Milotic swept his gaze across the room before his eyes fell upon Persian's table.

"He's coming over here…!" Raichu whispered excitedly as Milotic made his way towards them.

"Persian, glad to see you're doing well," Milotic greeted.

"Yes, well, I get to drink wine and chat with lovely ladies every day. It'd be surprising if I _wasn't_ doing well," Persian responded coolly.

"Haha! You sure have come a long way from the little kid I picked up on a business trip," Milotic laughed. "But all jokes aside, may I speak to you for a moment?"

Persian looked over at his dinner companions. Growlithe smiled, "Go on. I'll entertain these two while you're gone."

Persian gave a sympathetic smile to the two females before hopping off the booth and following the Water-type to the back hallway. Milotic led Persian into one of the bedrooms, then cautiously shut the door.

"There's something I need to tell you…" Milotic began. "It's important."

"I should hope so, considering you interrupted my job." Persian responded.

"I liked you better when you were all shy…" Milotic grumbled. "Anyway, I'm thinking of… quitting."

"You're gonna quit? Why?" Persian asked.

"I just… I've had my fun. I'm getting on in years, and I want to live a peaceful life away from all this crime and hiding." Milotic explained with a hint of embarrassment. "But the thing is, you can't really quit this business. I mean, I'm the head of a crime syndicate for Arceus's sake! There's no way my subordinates would let me walk away."

"I'm guessing that's where I come in…?" Persian suggested.

"Exactly. I've thought about it for some time now, and I think I've come up with a way to leave." Milotic declared. "And that's for someone to replace me." Persian took a moment to connect the dots, then his eyes widened as he looked at his leader in disbelief. "Precisely." Milotic leaned in towards him. "I want you to take over my syndicate."

"Wh- You want _me?_ Why?" Persian stuttered.

"Because I can see it: the desire in your eyes." Milotic wrapped his tail behind Persian's back. "You've lived most of your life looking at what other Pokemon have. Your master was one of the richest noblemon on the archipelago, with everything he could ever have wanted. You've done well to mask it for all these years, but I can see the greed in your gaze."

"That's ridiculous." Persian pulled away.

"Is it? In your master's house, when you flew over the ocean, even at Skyspear Mountain, I'm sure your mind was full of desire." Persian hesitated. He couldn't deny that he had felt some envy towards beautiful things. "Plus, you know firsthand the power that comes from physical possessions." Milotic continued. "He who owns the most money owns the world, right? Well, what better way to get what you want than to steal it, right? Take it for yourself. After all, you took back your freedom that way."

Persian was silent for a moment. "What do I have to do?"

"That's the spirit!" Milotic grinned. "First, you need someone you can trust. The _only_ one you can trust. Your right-hand mon. I'm guessing that would be your partner, Growlithe, right?" Persian flinched, embarrassed by his kinship with the Fire-type. "I brought something for him." Milotic reached into his bag and took out a small red stone.

"What's that?" Persian asked.

"It's called a Fire Stone. It can cause some Fire-types to evolve. Growlithe is one of those." Milotic explained. "From now on, both you and Growlithe will have to become strong enough to take on the entire syndicate."

"What? Can't you just… name me your successor or something?"

"What do you think this is, a monarchy?" Milotic scoffed. "No one would accept you as a leader just because I say so. The only way to become the boss is to defeat the current boss. You need to fight your way up the ranks with tooth and claw, gaining supporters and manipulating Pokémon to fit your needs. Once you're strong enough to take down all the Pokémon still loyal to me, you'll know where to find me." Milotic moved towards the door.

Persian watched the Water-type leave, then stared down at the stone sitting in front of him. His actions would be considered betrayal, and something told him that saying "he asked me to kill him" wouldn't work. This didn't sit right with Persian, and he wasn't happy at all about it. He stood up, preparing what he was going to say to Milotic when he turns down his request.

As soon as the cat moved towards the door, he stopped. The stone at his paws sparkled softly. It looked like a fiery amber. Persian stared at it for a moment longer. Milotic was the boss of the biggest crime organization on the continent. He was able to part with such a valuable stone so easily, he was sure to have an abundance of treasures.

Envy and greed flared up in Persian's heart as he envisioned the vast wealth that Milotic was sure to have. He no longer gave a damn if this was some ploy. _And with a little bit of effort, it could be mine._

With his mind made up, Persian lifted the stone gently in his teeth and returned to the hallway. He poked his head out into the main room and looked around. Milotic had already left, and Growlithe was busy with the Linoone and Raichu.

Persian ducked back behind the door and trotted back towards the private lobby. He entered the large back room to see a few Pokémon sitting at tables chatting or playing games. Persian closed his mouth around the stone to hide it as he walked through the room to the sleeping quarters.

His room, which was shared with five others, consisted of uncomfortable looking bunk beds and one small table. He quickly stashed the stone under his mattress and dashed back to the main room to return to his customers.

He sauntered back to the table and sat beside the Raichu. "Sorry about that. I ended up missing most of the meal."

"No, it's okay." Raichu responded. "We still had fun, right?" She turned to her companion, who nodded.

"Well, it's getting rather late," Growlithe observed. "Would you like to rent a room with us?"

"N-No," Linoone blushed, "we didn't come here to go _that_ far…"

 _Then what_ did _you come here for?_ Persian thought to himself. "Then," he smiled at them, "you can pay extra for us to continue keeping you company."

"We don't have enough money for that," Linoone laughed apologetically. "But thank you for entertaining us."

"Of course. I'll see you two out." Growlithe stood up and led the two ladies to the door. Persian didn't move from his seat, and simply watched the three of them leave.

He waited patiently for Growlithe to return, then bounded over to him. "Hey, follow me." He instructed, then trotted to the private quarters.

Growlithe followed, his curiosity growing as he watched Persian take the Fire Stone from his bed and head back towards the hallway. Persian flicked his tail to signal for Growlithe to continue following him as he entered a bedroom.

"Close the door," Persian ordered as Growlithe entered behind him, his voice muffled by the stone in his mouth.

"What are we doing here? If Miltank knew we were in here without a customer, she'd kill us." Growlithe commented.

Persian set the stone down in front of his paws. "Listen, you'd say we're pretty close, right?"

"Well, I guess. We're partners, after all." Growlithe replied.

"And if I were to do something a bit risky, you'd help me out, right?" Persian continued.

"It depends on what it is," Growlithe looked suspiciously at Persian.

"Ok, suppose I were to say I wanted to take over the syndicate."

" _What?_ Are you crazy?" Growlithe's eyes widened. "No way!"

"Hear me out!" Persian hissed. "Milotic said he wants me to take over for him, but the only way we can do it is through a coup de tat."

"That's ridiculous!" Growlithe dismissed.

"Come _on,_ Growlithe, do you want to spend your whole life in this whorehouse, catering to the needs of horny bitches who aren't attractive enough to find real love?"

"If the ladies knew what you were really like, they'd cry." Growlithe sighed. "It's ridiculous. You think we can become the leaders of this syndicate by ourselves?"

"Well, obviously we'll seek out help." Persian rolled his eyes. "But if you're that worried, how about this: you can act as my subordinate. Do all the dirty work. Then, if something goes wrong, just say I was blackmailing you. I won't hold it against you if you betray me to save your own skin. That's just the kind of business we're in."

Growlithe was silent as he mulled over this offer. He then sighed, "You plan on doing this even without me following you, right?" Persian nodded. "Then I might as well come along and make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Persian gave a big smile. "Really? Great! Then we'll start training tomorrow, so stash that stone and meet me after work at Sunscorch Desert!" he decided before bounding over to the door and leaving excitedly.

"Why am I so nice to that guy…?" Growlithe sighed, "There's no way this is gonna work."

…

Over the next while, Persian and Growlithe began devoting most of their free time to training against the inhabitants of Sunscorch Desert. Growlithe waited a few days before using the Fire Stone to evolve, claiming it was a gift from one of his regulars.

After months of diligent training on top of their work as entertainers and prostitutes, the two of them became the most capable escorts in the house. They began receiving special privileges as a sign of Miltank's trust, and thus they began to form the habit of spending the night in the desert, taking shifts to protect their sleeping comrade from the vengeful natives. Of course, their sudden growth in both strength and skill quickly caught the attention of other criminal Pokémon.

Persian trotted down the street, on a mission to bring in some ladies with free time and loose wallets. His fur had been meticulously groomed and cleaned in order to give off the glossy shine that it had. Persian sat by the side of the road, watching all the passersby.

He looked over at a Froslass walking with a bag slung over her arm. The bag was worn and old, and she walked with a somewhat reserved gait. She was obviously not someone who would spend her money frivolously.

Persian shifted his gaze so an Emolga, but she seemed far too young to comfortably enjoy a meal with gigolos, much less rent a room. With a sigh, he dragged his eyes away again.

"Slim pickings, huh?" A voice behind him chuckled. Persian turned to see an Electross and a Gogoat standing behind him.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Persian put on a polite smile.

"Maybe not. But we've heard quite a lot about you. Mind if we talk somewhere a bit more private?" The Gogoat nodded his head to an alleyway between two buildings.

Persian followed his gaze, then looked back at the two Pokémon. He could tell they were both a lot stronger than he was, so he grudgingly heaved himself up and stalked towards the alley.

Once the three of them were out of sight of the public eye, Electross spoke, "Sorry for the late introduction. We're from the Assassination division."

"Let's cut to the chase," Gogoat grunted. "We don't like you."

"You're hurting my feelings," Persian taunted arrogantly.

"You're just a street rat picked up from poverty by our leader. If Milotic hadn't rescued you, you'd probably be dead by now." Gogoat scoffed.

"Is that what you think?" Persian snickered.

"You cocky bastard," Electross growled. "You should be grateful to Milotic! He went out of his way to save your ass, and instead of working to repay him, you're off getting laid!"

"Well, that's the way the world works." Persian glanced towards the street, only to see Gogoat blocking the exit.

"Well," the Grass-type smirked, "you can keep on acting cocky. We'll just beat some gratitude into you."

Persian twitched his whiskers nervously as the two began closing in on him. _Great job, Persian,_ he scolded himself, _now find a way out._

Suddenly a voice called out from behind the two assassins, "Persian! There you are!" The three Pokémon all froze before turning to look at the newcomer. An Espeon with red glasses trotted into the alley. "Man, I've been looking _everywhere_!"

"I'm sorry, you are…?" Persian asked, bewildered.

The Espeon burst out laughing as he pushed his way past the Gogoat to stand beside the cat. "Persian, seriously. I get a pair of glasses and suddenly I'm unrecognizable? It's me, Sora!"

Persian gave his best look of false recognition as he realized this Psychic-type was trying to save him. "Oh, Sora! I haven't seen you in ages! Now isn't really the best time, though, so-"

"Come now, I want to reminisce with you over a cup of tea." The Espeon pressed his body against Persian's, steering him toward the street.

"Wait!" Gogoat moved in front of them, blocking their path. "I don't know who you are, but I never said you could leave."

"Oh? That's weird. I don't recall ever asking for your permission," the Psychic-type responded. Before Gogoat could say a word, Persian felt himself being bathed in a soft purple light, gently flooding his vision. Before he had time to blink he had suddenly been transported somewhere else. He looked around at the endless sand stretching before him, confused and startled.

"Where the hell-?!"

"Calm down. Scarlet City is right there, right?" The Espeon nodded to the buildings in the distance. "We're only a little ways outside of it." He sighed. "Still, getting hazed in an alleyway? Isn't that a bit cliche?"

"Who the hell are you?" Persian asked testily.

"Didn't I say? My name is Sora. Thanks for playing along, by the way. I owe you one."

" _You_ owe _me?_ Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Persian tipped his head.

"Well, see, I was actually looking for an opportunity to test my Teleport. I wanted to see if I could carry other Pokémon with me when I Teleported, and luckily for you, the results are as you can see." Sora explained. "But it is true that if I hadn't Teleported you out of there, you'd be in trouble. So let's say we're even."

"I didn't think Espeons could even learn Teleport…" Persian commented.

"They can't naturally. I used a special method to gain that ability." Sora stated. "Now, then, I trust you can get home safely, yeah? If there's nothing else to do, I'll be taking my leave."

Before Persian could respond, the Psychic-type disappeared. The cat stood awkwardly in the sand for a few minutes, processing what just happened. That Espeon was an interesting Pokémon to be sure, but Persian had to wonder whether he was really a neutral party. An Espeon who can use Teleport would be a great asset, since the enemy wouldn't expect it.

With a shrug and a shake of his head, Persian pushed those thoughts aside and began making his way back to the city, forming excuses to give to Miltank to explain his disappearance.

…

Days passed without incident, and Persian was back with his usual duties. He tried to avoid going out alone, and always brought Arcanine to go scout customers. He occasionally felt someone watching him from afar, but he did his best to pretend not to notice.

Today, Persian and Arcanine were on the welcoming staff, tasked with awaiting customers and getting them a table with whoever they requested.

"Welcome!" Persian gave a dazzling smile as the door opened, only to switch to a surprised look as Sora sauntered in.

"Hey, Persian! I'm back!" the Psychic-type greeted.

"You know him?" Arcanine asked.

"Nope. Not at all." Persian scowled.

"You're so mean!" Sora taunted. "And after I went through all the trouble of saving your ass."

"Listen here, you psychic mutt," Persian leaned in towards Sora's face and growled in a low tone, "I don't know why you came to find me, but you'd better forget you ever met me, for your own good."

"Unfortunately, that's not possible." Sora brushed past Persian and strutted towards the center of the room. "But since I'm here, may as well have some fun, right?"

"Is there anyone you'd like to request?" Arcanine asked.

"Yeah. You." Sora looked directly at Persian.

"I'm sorry, I don't entertain guys." Persian spat.

"Really? You're denying a customer? Even though I'm willing to pay extra?" Sora hummed. "I might have to speak with your manager about this…"

Arcanine exchanged a look with Persian, then nodded his head towards the Psychic-type as if to say "get it over with."

Persian gave a defeated sigh, "There's no need for that. I'll accompany you to this table over here." As Persian sat down with Sora, he could feel the other customers and escorts pretending not to notice him. It was rare for homosexual customers to come here, and even when they did, Persian was always adamant about not serving them.

"Wow, drinking alcohol with my own male prostitute!" Sora laughed. "This is definitely a first!"

"What kind of drink would you like?" Arcanine asked.

"Anything with alcohol will be fine. Oh, but also try to keep the price on the lower side." Sora responded as he put his paws up on the table.

Persian leaned back behind the Psychic-type and mouthed, "Get the cheapest," to Arcanine. The Fire-type nodded before making his way to the back.

"So," Persian looked at Sora, "how did you find me here?"

"Please, don't think you're well hidden. It was relatively easy to find your workplace, as well as other… interesting rumors." Sora responded. "Well, I've always had a knack for gathering information, so don't panic."

"What do you want from me?" Persian asked.

"Who said I wanted anything? Can't I just come for a drink with an acquaintance of mine?" Sora responded innocently.

"Cut the bullshit. Just sitting with you is damaging my image." Persian spat.

"I don't know what to tell you. There's really no actual reason for me to be here." Sora shrugged. "It's just that something deep inside me is telling me that hanging around you will be worthwhile."

"Oh, really? So what, do you intend on following me around everywhere?" Persian snickered.

"Maybe not _everywhere_ , but I'll definitely become a familiar face here." Sora responded with a smirk. "The popular ladies' mon is suddenly frequented by a male Espeon. I wonder what your coworkers will think…? Maybe if I try hard enough, I can become your number one customer."

Persian's fur bristled with irritation. "Fine. You want to be part of my life? Alright. You can be my comrade. But I'm warning you now: I'm part of the underworld. I've got some serious illegal shit going on. Don't blame me if you get killed."

"Are you trying to intimidate me?" Sora snickered.

"No, I'm just saying it isn't uncommon for Pokémon like you to be tortured to death. If you're seen with me, you'll become a victim of endless torment."

"Wow! It'll feel just like back home, then." Sora smiled.

Persian looked away frustratedly. He didn't say another word as Arcanine returned with a tray containing two glasses and a bottle of booze. He set it down on the table and looked at Sora. "Anything else?"

"Nope. That's fine." Sora waved him away as he began lifting the bottle with his psychic abilities and pouring it into the glasses. He raised his glass with his front paws and smirked at Persian. "To a life of crime," he stated, then began downing the alcohol.

As Persian watched the small Psychic-type, he slowly slipped into deep thought. If he looked past Sora's condescending personality, he was actually a good asset to have. With his mysterious Teleport and information gathering skills, he'd be the perfect spy. Plus, Persian needed someone to help with strategy. At the moment, he didn't even know where to begin his conquest, but maybe with this Pokémon…

As Sora put his glass down, Persian grabbed his own glass by the rim with his teeth, lifting it up and pouring the liquid down his throat in one swig. He then put it back down and exhaled as he jumped off the seat. "Follow me." He ordered the surprised Sora as he headed for the back rooms.

Sora followed nervously as Persian led him to a private room. "Hey, I don't actually swing that way, you know…"

"I know that, idiot. Listen." Persian closed the door behind his customer. "I'm planning on overthrowing the current leader of the crime organization I work for," he stated in a low tone.

Sora was silent for a moment, then laughed. "What the hell? So _that's_ why you were trying to chase me away."

"I'll be honest with you: you'd be a great help as my comrade. With your Teleport and informational skills, we could really use you." Persian explained. "However, I won't force you to join me if you don't want to. It wasn't a lie when I said how dangerous it is. You could very well be killed."

"So this is what she meant…" Sora murmured under his breath before responding to Persian. "I have some experience with dangerous situations already. I'm confident that I can hold my ground against whatever you're up against."

"So you'll join us? That's great!" Persian smiled.

"However," Sora added, "don't refer to me as your 'comrade.' If you want to be a crime boss, you have to keep your distance. The road you're about to walk down is a treacherous one, and I can't guarantee that I'll always be on your side. In order to spare yourself the pain of betrayal, you need to be ready for it. Assume everyone is conspiring against you at all times, but also don't show weakness. So don't think of anyone as a comrade. You're only using me for my skill, and I'm using you for some entertainment. That's all."

Persian turned towards the door, "Wait here. I'll introduce you to my second-in-command." He exited the room and immediately searched for Arcanine. Persian quickly found the Fire-type by the door to the main room. "Hey, Arcanine, come here."

"Persian! I heard you brought that Espeon into a room, so what are you doing here?" Arcanine asked as he followed Persian back through the hallway.

"Seriously? I don't entertain guys, especially not in bed. I was talking to him about our plan." Persian explained. He brought Arcanine back to the room and closed the door behind him. "Arcanine, this is our new companion, Sora."

Arcanine looked at Sora, who was sitting on the bed, in astonishment. "Wait, your name is Sora? As in the Phantom's Tactician?"

"I've always hated that nickname," Sora commented. "It makes it seem like I'm some otherworldly being."

"What? You know him?" Persian asked.

"You were still on the Milada islands at the time, but this guy was pretty famous a few years ago." Arcanine explained. "You know about the guilds, right?"

"Yeah, Milotic told me about them. They always get in our way," Persian replied.

"Well, there was a guild run by a Mightyena known as the Phantom Guild. It was given that name because it was the most elusive organization on the continent. They didn't have a guild hall, but they would just appear to help Pokémon, then disappear again once their mission was complete." Arcanine stated. "They rarely took any reward money, and claimed they only worked for the gratitude and fun."

"Quite the vigilantes, aren't you?" Persian observed.

"And among the Phantom Guildmembers, Sora was especially famed." Arcanine continued. "He was known to be a walking encyclopedia. He knew every species of Pokémon off the top of his head, as well as each Pokemon's type, weaknesses, and every single move that Pokémon might know. It was said that once you fought in front of him once, you'll never have a chance of defeating him."

"Very impressive." Persian raised a brow as he looked skeptically at the Espeon.

"Yeah, well, I can at least say that last rumor is untrue. You can defeat me through brute force if you try hard enough," Sora stated as though bragging. "Although I wouldn't recommend it."

"So, is this what you meant when you said you might not always be on my side? You planned to act as a spy for your guild and wait for an opportunity to arrest me?" Persian growled.

"Cool it, little kitty. It's true that I used to be affiliated with the guild, but that was years ago. I already cut ties with Mightyena and the crew," Sora defended.

"I did hear that the rescue team that Sora was part of disappeared a little over a year ago. There were rumors of their disbandment, but nothing solid…" Arcanine commented.

"Yeah, we broke up. We all went our separate ways, and now the other three in my team are no longer in this world," Sora smirked grimly.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" Arcanine bowed his head.

"Let's just leave the past in the past, yeah?" Sora stood up. "If you still have your doubts, I'll even throw away my famed name. I won't act as Sora the Phantom Tactician. I'll just be Espeon the info broker. Besides, I told you to expect betrayal, right?" He hopped off the bed and approached the two. "I'm only tagging along for my own amusement, so be sure to keep it entertaining, okay?"

"Sure, I'll do my best, and so in turn, _you_ be sure to aid us as best you can," Persian responded.

"I look forward to making you the king of the underworld," Sora smiled as he sauntered towards the door.

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Arcanine asked.

"We don't have to. We just have to play along and take his words with a grain of salt." Persian responded. "But now starts the real challenge. It's only gonna get harder from here, but I'll be counting on you to have my back."

"Of course. I'll definitely raise you to the top." Arcanine vowed.

Persian chuckled as he stalked towards the door, "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

Hello! I was struggling to decide on whose backstory to give you, actually, but I feel like I made a pretty good choice in the end! I've always loved seeing the villain's background, and even though Persian isn't _really_ the antagonist, he's not exactly a good guy.

I hope this can make up for the ridiculous amount of time it took for us to update the story, but if it still isn't enough, just know that these two aren't the only backstories we're going to do, so look forward to it!


End file.
